


It's Just a Thing

by konfusion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bulimia, Derek-centric, Dubious Consent, Eating Disorders, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, One Shot, Original Character(s), Purging, Recovery, Self Confidence Issues, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 20:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12175851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/konfusion/pseuds/konfusion
Summary: Derek has this boyfriend. It's a thing.His name is Adam and he's twenty-six and he's tall and blond and he was a football player in college.Adam and Derek have been dating for nearly three years now. It's been good.Derek has this eating disorder. It's a thing.He doesn't tell Adam about it.It's just this thing that happens. It's nothing. Derek and Adam are together. Derek throws up his meals sometimes. That's just how it goes. It's been going fine for the last three years and it'll keep being okay.





	It's Just a Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Wow here's another sad Teen Wolf fic that took me the best part of a year to write!
> 
>  
> 
> This has explicit references to eating disorders (specifically bulimia), as well as mentions of an emotionally abusive relationship, so if you're sensitive to that kind of content - please be aware!
> 
>  
> 
> Also I should probably point out that I'm British, and therefore my spellings/knowledge are a little bit off but that's okay because it's my work lol.
> 
> Please point out any mistakes there are (I'm sure there's plenty) so I can sort that out, and any feedback you have would be greatly appreciated! :-)

Derek has this boyfriend. It's a thing.  

His name is Adam and he's twenty-six and he's tall and blond and he was a football player in college. Derek and Adam met at a soccer game. Neither of them cared for soccer, so they ended up sneaking off, with Adam pushing Derek up against a pole under the bleachers and kissing him senseless. 

Adam and Derek have been dating for nearly three years now. It's been good. 

They have an apartment together, and they share bills and everything. They’ve got a joint bank account and it feels very _adult_.

 

 

Adam works in an office most of the time. He manages funding for local community sports events. His main interest is helping kids get interested in football, and he does a fantastic job at it. There's been a thirty seven percent increase in gym participation at local schools because of Adam's work alone. When he's got time to spare, he goes and plays football with his college buddies, and more often than not, Derek sits in the bleachers and admires how fantastically athletic his boyfriend is. 

 

Derek is a professor at the local community college and he teaches botany. It sounds kind of lame, and Adam sometimes thinks it's kind of dorky, but Derek absolutely loves nature. His mom taught him the names of all the different kinds of trees in the preserve and his dad taught him how to plant flowers and shrubs and vegetables in the garden. He has this _knack_ for it. Adam and Derek’s apartment has a little roof garden halfway up, and Derek spends all his free time there. He pours his heart into his hydrangea bush and tends to his chrysanthemums like they're his children.  

 

Adam doesn't want a family and so Derek tramples down his dreams of a huge house with a yard and loads of kids, and smiles tightly when Adam frowns at noisy children in the supermarket, instead loading the cart with Adam's favourite candy and sugary cereal and soda. They eat it together whilst watching shitty straight-to-TV films and making out on the couch. Derek runs off to throw it all back up as soon as he can. 

 

 

Derek has this eating disorder. It's a thing. 

He doesn't tell Adam about it. As far as he's concerned, it's none of Adam's business. And if Adam bothers to compliment Derek on his toned stomach or his muscular arms or his 'fantastic' ass, then he must be doing something right. So he says he's going to Laura's house and drives to the gym and works out until his muscles burn and he can barely breathe. And if he comes home and Adam's made dinner, Derek will just lean over his shoulder and kiss him and say he ate at Laura's. He doesn't look in the mirror as often as he can because he'll want to punch the reflection. He glares at his friends as they eat pizza and candy and snacks like it's nothing, when Derek looks at a chocolate bar and gains four pounds. He frowns when he sees Adam's body and how perfect it is and how unfair that his boyfriend has the metabolism of a fucking teenager. So he wraps himself in big sweaters and tries to hide his body the best he can under layers of clothing. Sometimes he skips meals. That's okay, until it's not, because he's nearly passed out whilst giving a lecture once, and he can't let that become a regular occurrence. So he binges on candy and bread and fast food and then throws it all up straight away. It keeps him standing for the hour and a half that he has to teach, and then he can do it all over again when necessary. It works. 

 

It's just this thing that happens. It's nothing. Derek and Adam are together. Derek throws up his meals sometimes. That's just how it goes. It's been going fine for the last three years and it'll keep being okay. 

 

 

This last month has been particularly straining. There's been an issue with Derek's bank in which his inheritance money is kind of frozen at the moment. Not his fault, but it still means he and Adam are a little strapped for cash. So Adam is working more and more at the office and Derek's running this informal gardening service on the side. They're both pretty stressed out, but they make it work. When Derek gets home all sweaty and gross and covered in grass and mud and stuff, Adam kisses him and drags him into the shower. They eat cheap food on the living room floor and it's all okay. 

 

"So I talked to the bank today." Derek says as he stabs a piece of carrot with his fork. "They pretty much said everything should be back to normal in two to three weeks." 

Adam chews on his mouthful of food thoughtfully. "But our rent is due next week." 

"Yeah, I'm gonna talk to the landlord tomorrow." Derek says. Adam smiles, and wraps a hand around the back of Derek's neck and ruffles his hair. 

"Thanks, Der." He grins. Derek smiles and looks down at his plate. He's got about half of it left and the food on it is glaring at him and his stomach twists uncomfortably. He gulps down a glass of water and declares that he's full. 

 

 

They're relaxing on their couch, their legs intertwined and Adam's arm wrapped around Derek's shoulder. It's cosy and perfect.  

"They've given me this project to manage at work." Adam begins. "It's basically raising funds for more specialised sports at schools. More direct training and stuff." 

"So what do you have to do?" Derek asks, tracing his thumb over Adam's free hand. 

"I need to find these coaches and see if they're willing to help me out, as well as talking to local schools about sparing funds for everything, and it's a lot." 

"Who's helping you out?" 

Adam sighs, but smiles. "No one. It's my own project. If everything goes to plan, kids are doing more sports, my boss respects my position a bit more, and I get a huge bonus as well. It's a win-win-win." 

Derek smiles. He's genuinely proud of the work his boyfriend is doing and the progress he is making. He leans over and kisses Adam and they snuggle impossibly closer until they fall asleep on the couch. 

 

Derek keeps a ring box tucked away in his underwear drawer. When he was younger, his mother gave him his grandmother's ring to give to somebody. When Derek confessed that he liked boys as well, his father gave his grandfather's ring just in case.

He's going to give it to Adam when the time is right. They’re just a little busy at the moment. It’s gonna happen soon. It’s been nearly three years, after all.

 

 

After he teaches lectures on Thursdays, Derek stops by the local hipster coffee shop to hang out with his friends. It’s this weird rotation of ninety percent of their friend group most of the time, as they all have pretty crazy schedules and they’re not always free at the same time. Today, it’s Scott, Lydia, and Stiles. They’ve already grabbed their favourite spot – the corner with the green sofa and the pink armchairs – and are talking animatedly. Derek spots Scott waiting at the counter for the last two drinks, and so Derek grabs a handful of sugars and creamers from the do-it-yourself station. Derek sits down in an empty spot on the sofa. He sighs gratefully as Scott sets down a black coffee in front of him.

“Thanks, man.” He smiles, taking his jacket off and throwing it over his bag that’s already on the floor beside him.

“Good lecture, Der?” Lydia questions, feet neatly tucked underneath her on the sofa next to Derek.

“Yeah, it wasn’t too awful. There’s only so many times you can go over basic plant structure with first years before you start to go insane, though.”

Lydia grins, and takes a sip of her peppermint tea. “Tell me about it. When I teach, it’s like I’m talking to a brick wall. Kids these days don’t know the first thing when it comes to constitutional law.”

“Lyds, _no-one_ knows the first thing about constitutional law.” Stiles pipes up, smirking.

 

They chat for a bit, and Derek busies himself by pouring three packets of Splenda into his coffee. He can’t stand the taste of black coffee. In fact, he doesn’t even like black coffee that much, but he’d prefer to be safe with a drink that’s under ten calories so he doesn’t have to try and get it up later. And the caffeine helps.

 

Derek loves hanging out with his friends. It’s a welcome distraction from the money problems he’s dealing with at the moment. And his friends just seem so carefree. They discuss videogames and television shows and the weather and fashion at full speed and Derek doesn’t have time to worry that his sweater is clinging to his frame in the wrong way because he’s too busy snorting laughter at something one of them said. It’s nice.

There’s a lot of jokes about how he’s a married man, but he brushes the jokes aside. It’s not like half of his friend group are single – in fact, most of them are together; Scott and Isaac, Erica and Boyd, Kira and Malia, or Lydia and Allison, for example. He doesn’t understand, but pins it on the fact that he’s a little bit older than them.

They chat until the sun goes down and that’s when they leave. Scott and Lydia go home together because they live the same way, and Stiles and Derek walk the other direction to their respective homes. Derek loves listening to Stiles chat because he talks so much. It’s never boring. There’s always something new happening with Stiles and he talks animatedly with his hands flailing everywhere. They get to the intersection and Stiles turns left whilst Derek walks on a couple of blocks to his apartment.

 

 

The money problem is sorted out three weeks later, and they’re back to as normal as they were before.

Adam works.

Derek purges.

It’s all okay.

They celebrate Adam’s success on his sports development programme by going on a date to the movies. It’s so cheesy and so cliché but they love that kind of stuff. They’re both romantic goofballs. The local cinema is screening some old golden-era Hollywood movie, and so they go. Adam buys their tickets and Derek buys their popcorn, and they sit at the back of the theatre. It’s relatively empty so as expected, they end up making out for quite a big portion of it. They don’t miss much because they’ve seen the movie several times before, but they get shushed by an older couple a few rows forward, and end up giggling together like a couple of teenagers for the second half of the movie.

It’s a perfect date.

They get home late, and Adam opens a bottle of red, and they sit on the living room rug talking nonsense, until Adam sets his wine glass on the coffee table and leans over to kiss Derek.

They fall asleep on the rug with the throw blanket haphazardly draped over them, and in the morning, they’re giggling all over again.

Dates like these help Derek forget about food, forget about control, and just enjoy spending time with the man he loves. He hopes Adam feels as happy as he does when they’re together like this.

 

 

When Derek needs to binge, he makes sure Adam’s not around. He’ll stop by at the grocery store and buy armfuls of junk food and then if he has time, he’ll drive through a fast food restaurant, and take everything to their house.

It usually takes him about thirty minutes to get the food down, and then a further ten to get it all back up again. He’s been doing this for years. He knows how do get everything done properly.

It’s been a particularly difficult day at the college. He’s had one particularly trying student trying to catch him out in his morning lecture, and then a set of three girls who wouldn’t stop messing around on their phones in the afternoon. And furthermore, barely anyone turned up to the seminar he was leading in the afternoon.

So yeah, it was a long day.

He doesn’t think about it as he shovels all sorts of snacks into his mouth. He remembers everything when he’s throwing it up.

He feels guilty.

It’s too far to stop now.

He purges until he can’t anymore, then downs a glass of water and tries again until he’s positively empty. He feels calmer, and more centred.

It’s just a thing.

 

Once he’s brushed his teeth furiously, he goes to the kitchen to clean up his mess. He ends up bleaching the kitchen to get rid of the smell of sugary sweets and chocolate and fast food.

Adam comes home thirty minutes later, and suspects nothing. Adam pulls Derek onto his lap and they chat about their days. Derek is rigid because he knows Adam can feel how heavy he is.

“Derek, what’s up?” Adam says softly, brushing a hand over Derek’s forehead and carding his fingers through his hair. “You’re really pale.”

“Nothing, babe. Just a long day. I’m tired.”

Adam huffs, and leans his forehead against his boyfriend’s. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.”

Adam doesn’t know the half of it.

 

 

Derek carries on gardening even after his inheritance is back as usual. They’ve got a pretty comfortable lifestyle, so Derek just does it for free for people who need it. It’s not necessarily just to be a good Samaritan; the gardening business is actually pretty fun. Derek gets to tend to plants, and he gets to be alone, and calm, and it’s what he needs. Today’s a Saturday, and he’s working on Mrs Marin’s horrifically overgrown front garden. It had a semblance of organisation once, Derek presumes. There’s a gorgeous birch tree in the front, and as Derek weeds, he finds a stone path somewhere as well. He’s been there for three hours and he’s making progress.

Until he’s distracted by a wolf whistle. His head darts up to see Stiles leaning on the precarious picket fence. Derek smiles, rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“I didn’t know you were a gardener.” Stiles states as Derek gets up and walks over.

“I’m not. Well, not usually. I didn’t know you lived round here.”

“Well, I don’t. But I’m on a walk. There’s only so much of my stuffy little house I can take.”

Derek nods, and looks down at his muddy hands.

“We didn’t catch you at the coffee shop this week.”

Of course they didn’t. Derek was too busy trying to catch up on his work that he hasn’t had time to do because he was too busy purging. “No, sorry. I was busy.”

“Too busy to come hang out with us for a couple of hours?”

“Yeah, actually. Working for a living is pretty tough.”

Stiles looks indignant. “Hey. I draw comic books. That’s enough to fund my horrible Doritos addiction, thank you very much.”

Derek wants to laugh, but can’t bring himself to.

“Are you working all weekend?” Stiles asks, and Derek assumes it’s just to break the silence.

“Yeah. Somebody’s gotta look after Mrs Marin’s carnations.”

“Gosh, you’re halfway to married and you barely even have time to see your boyfriend.”

Derek blushes, but he guesses he can pass that off, because he’s already hot and sweaty enough as it is. “I do see him. He works full time too, you know.”

There’s a beat, and Stiles traces the fence with his fingertips. “He’s a lucky guy.”

Derek scoffs quietly. “I’m the lucky one.”

Stiles just rolls his eyes, and pushes back from the fence. “Well, I gotta get going. I’ll see you around, Der.”

With that, he saunters off down the pavement, and Derek is left to carry on as he was. He chugs a bottle of water and begins to pull dandelions out of the ground.

 

It takes him about two more hours to finish the garden and he’s pleased with how he’s left it. He’s cleared the path and mowed the lawn and sorted out the flowerbeds, leaving with a neat and manicured lawn that leaves Mrs Marin delighted when he leaves.

He gets home, super sweaty, and drops his keys in the bowl in the hallway. He finds Adam in their study, and holds a Tupperware of cookies in front of Adam’s nose. Adam looks up and grins.

“Where’d you get these from?”

“Mrs Marin is a sweetheart who felt bad because I’d volunteered. It’s her way of saying thanks.”

Adam smiles and grabs a cookie. “You’re such a sap. You’re literally clearing old ladies’ gardens for free. You’re such a good guy.”

Derek laughs, and laughs harder when Adam spits out the bite of cookie he’s taken. “Alright, she may be adorable, but she can’t bake for shit. These are disgusting.”

“I’ll toss them out.” Derek leans over and kisses Adam on the forehead.

He heads into the kitchen, and taps his fingers on the counter.

Adam’s right; the cookies are disgusting. But that doesn’t stop Derek eating the whole box. He then darts into the bathroom, throws them up again, and actually gets in the shower. The cool water soothes his aching muscles and he enjoys the time alone. Adam sneaks into the bathroom, and Derek’s happy that he decided to brush his teeth before getting in the shower, because Adam gets into the cubicle with him.

“Hey.” Adam says, and snakes his arms around Derek’s waist.

“Hey yourself.” Derek smirks, and kisses Adam.

By the end of their shower, Derek is absolutely drained; his bones feel like jelly and his eyelids are drooping. He can do nothing but let Adam bundle him up in a towel and steer him off to bed.

 

They watch dumb shit on Adam’s phone when they’re in bed, tangled up with one another. Adam’s stomach rumbles and he groans.

“I forgot to make dinner. I don’t want to get up.” He rolls onto his front and looks up at Derek. “Are you hungry?”

“No, not really.” He is. Desperately. “But if you want something, I can make it for you.”

Adam laughs and brushes his palm across Derek’s cheek. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Derek laughs too, as he walks out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

He cooks their traditional post-sex meal (grilled cheese with tabasco) and delivers it straight to Adam, who’s wrapped most of their duvet around his waist. When he sees what Derek’s made him, he chuckles, and pulls Derek down by the back of the neck and kisses him deeply.

“I am so lucky.” He says sincerely.

“I’m the lucky one.” Derek replies.

They doze off with a cartoon still playing on Adam’s phone in front of them.

 

 

Derek’s friends are going to a concert. They rope Derek and Adam into seeing the concert as well – it’s some rock band that always put on a good show and so they’re pretty excited about going. They all meet at Derek and Adam’s apartment beforehand for some beers and general shouting. Derek tries to dress in his best fitting clothes and Adam tries to dress like he’s twenty-one again. They leave for the concert in two taxis and Derek holds onto Erica as she gets progressively drunker and therefore progressively louder.

The concert is great. Derek shouts along to his favourite song – aka the only one he knows – and spends most of the rest of the concert getting steadily drunk at the bar and making out with his boyfriend.

He gets drunk far too quickly. He pins it on the whole throwing up thing; it must have affected his tolerance. He watches as his friends end up doing the same as he and Adam. It occurs to him that he’s friends with a stupid number of couples.  He means, all bar few – there’s Jackson, who was single, but too in love with himself, and there’s Stiles – Stiles, who is currently being held at the waist by a stranger. Derek frowns as he watches Stiles being pulled forward by this guy. Stiles isn’t sober. This guy is way too pushy. Stiles doesn’t look comfortable.

“Adam.” Derek stutters, clutching onto Adam’s shirt. “Adam, something’s up with Stiles.”

“Hmm?” Adam barely looks up from where he’s currently kissing lines down Derek’s neck.

“I gotta do something.”

He weaves his way over to Stiles, catching the attention of both Scott and Kira as he stumbles over.

Stiles looks up gratefully, and leans over to whisper something in this guy’s ear. He doesn’t seem to understand, because he tightens his grip on Stiles’ waist.

“Sorry, I gotta go. Nice to meet you.” He says, grabs Derek’s hand, and hurries off back to the bar.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks on their way to Adam.

“I’m fine. That guy was just hugely creepy.”

“Do you wanna go?” Derek says softly. Stiles stops short of the bar and takes a deep breath. His eyes dart around nervously.

“Yeah. Yes. Please, let’s just get out of here.”

Adam darts round to gather their group and they head off to the nearest McDonald’s for some late night junk food. Derek orders a large meal and blames it on the alcohol when he goes to the bathroom to throw it all back up again. He shrinks into himself when Adam gives him a look when he returns to the table, but tries not to think too much into it.

Stiles is uncharacteristically quiet when he’s eating. He sits on the end of the table and doesn’t really look at anyone. He doesn’t join in to the dumb jokes that Malia cracks. Doesn’t steal food off of Scott’s tray to annoy him. Doesn’t throw fries at Jackson’s head.

Derek notices instantly.

He’s fairly sure Scott notices as well, because Scott nudges his shoulder and leans in to talk to him quietly. Derek tries not to watch as Stiles’ face moulds into this fake smile and he grins at Scott.

Derek may not be great at looking after himself, but he sure knows how to look after his friends.

He gets them to leave in about twenty minutes and they all go to their respective homes. Adam sits on Derek’s lap in their bed and tries to undress Derek, but Derek just pulls his shirt down and apologises.

“Not tonight, Adam. I’m not feeling it.” Derek mumbles.

“Okay. That’s okay. You alright?” Adam says, bringing his hands up to cradle Derek’s jawline.

“Yeah, it’s all good. I’ll make it up to you another time.” Adam rolls his eyes as he climbs off of Derek and snuggles up next to his side instead.

“You know that’s not how it works.” Adam sighs.

“I know.” Derek smiles softly, and reaches back to turn out the bedside light. “Love you.”

Adam’s already snoring.

 

 

 

Derek is teaching a group of forty students about the plants that are found in the north of California today. He talks about lilacs and sage and poppies and he’s about to get into the perennials, but his vision pops and dark shadows appear across his eyes. He grips his desk but he can feel that he’s shaking and he can’t breathe and-

He wakes up on the floor of his lecture theatre with throngs of students around him. One’s got a bottle of water stretched out to him and he takes it gratefully.

He’s passed out in his class.

He’s an embarrassment.

He gets up off the floor, and pales when he sees his manager, Robert – the head of biology at his college – walk in the door. They agree to postpone the rest of the lecture (Derek weakly advises that the lecture slides are available online) and Derek sits down in the front row of seats.

“Derek, what’s going on?” Robert asks, leaning back against the teacher’s desk.

“It’s nothing. I wasn’t feeling too great this morning – I should have cancelled the lecture.” Derek shakes his head and keeps his gaze fixed on his feet.

“Okay, there’s only a couple of classes left for this week. How about we suspend them and catch up with them when you’re feeling better?” Robert questions, and Derek nods. “You need to go home, Derek, and get some rest. I’ve called Adam and he’s going to come and pick you up.”

Derek’s head shoots up. Adam’s already suspicious that he’s not looking after himself right. He doesn’t need this – he’s just gonna get questions when he gets home. “Sir, you really didn’t have to do th-”

He stops because Adam’s just rushed into the theatre. Derek feels like he could pass out all over again.

Adam kneels in front of him and brushes a hand across Derek’s face. He’s concerned, Derek understands, but Derek also just wishes the floor would swallow him up right now.

Adam and Robert discuss some stuff that Derek doesn’t listen to and Derek frowns as he lets himself be bundled into Adam’s car as he drives them home.

There’s several minutes of awkward silence before Adam begins.

“It’s the eating thing, isn’t it?” He starts. Derek wants to open the car door and roll out onto the motorway.

“Adam, please-”

“I cook for you all the time, and you’re just not eating?”

“Adam-”

“And now I get called to your school because you’ve passed out in front of a class?” Adam’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

“Adam, I didn’t mean to.” Derek says in a small voice as they pull into their driveway. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Adam scoffs, gently, but Derek hears, and he squeezes his eyes closed as Adam shuts off the car and walks around to help Derek out of the car.

They get inside and Adam makes tea and Derek heads to their room to change. He doesn’t ever let Adam see him changing. He can’t deal with what his boyfriend must think.

Today, evidently, he doesn’t have a choice. He doesn’t realise Adam’s in the room until he hears the sound of a mug being set on the counter. He quickly tries to cover up, but Adam’s quick, and takes a hold of his wrists. Derek shrinks into himself.

“Please don’t look at me.” He whispers. He can’t bear to see the expression on Adam’s face.

“Derek, you’re skin and bones.”

Derek doesn’t say anything. He feels sick. Today’s been like a nightmare and it hasn’t stopped. Adam drags him to the bathroom and forces him to stand on their bathroom scales. Tears escape from the corners of Derek’s eyes because he can’t bring himself to look at the number.

“Derek… how did this happen? Why are you doing this?” Adam asks, his voice gentle and calm, and that only makes Derek cry harder.

“Please leave me alone.” Derek mumbles, and rushes off to their bedroom where he finally gets to pull on sweatpants and a jumper and curl up in bed. Adam does as he’s asked, and leaves him alone until the evening. Derek feels the bed dip behind him and he holds his breath whilst his boyfriend gets comfortable. Derek flips over and cuddles into Adam’s side, and is grateful when Adam responds by looping an arm around him.

“I’m sorry.” Derek says quietly.

“It’s okay, babe. We’ll get through this. You have to get better.”

 

 

The next few weeks are hell for Derek. He can feel Adam’s eyes on him constantly.

He feels like a bird in a cage.

Adam makes dinner for him every day and the portions are always too big. Adam always serves him food that he used to binge on and that makes Derek feel sick.

He tries to explain the whole ‘I need to go and throw up the meal I just ate’ to Adam but his boyfriend just doesn’t understand.

There’s some times when he can’t stop, he can’t help it but to run to the bathroom and purge. It makes him feel guiltier than ever. Adam always finds out. There was this one time where Adam didn’t speak to him for three days because he caught Derek with his fingers down his throat in their bathroom.

He feels fat all the time and it’s worse because there’s nothing he can do about it. He tries to go to the gym, but he finds that his membership’s been cancelled, because Adam didn’t want him going.

He doesn’t know what to do anymore.

 

 

It’s a Wednesday when things really start going downhill, as if they weren’t already. This seems like the tipping point.

Adam’s spent _all_ afternoon cooking up this meal, because neither of them are particularly good at cooking. The kitchen’s a mess but Derek pretends not to notice when he walks into the room. When he sets the plate in front of Derek, his heart drops. It’s homemade pasta with chicken and asparagus and there’s cherry tomatoes on top.

It sounds gross, but Derek knows what it means immediately.

It’s the meal that they both ordered on their first date. They’d gone to a poky little Italian restaurant and the menu was odd, to say the least, but this seemed like the tamest thing to go for. They ended up loving the dish and they go back to the restaurant every anniversary, or a special occasion. Adam’s never cooked it before. It’s a goodwill gesture. Derek feels like he needs to throw up before his fork has even touched his lips. He looks up at Adam, who is smiling gently. Derek wants to cry. He is so lucky. He doesn’t know why Adam puts up with him.

They eat the meal (Derek has to wait for Adam to finish) and then Adam bundles Derek up in a blanket and pulls him over to their sofa. Derek feels uneasy. This feels wrong.

“Adam.” Derek mumbles as they’re ten minutes into Derek’s favourite movie. “Adam, I can’t.”

Adam turns to look at Derek. He doesn’t understand.

“I have to purge, Adam.” Derek whispers.

“I spent _so long_ cooking for you, and you’re just gonna go and throw it all back up?”

“I _want_ to keep it down, Adam, I do, but I just… I can’t breathe.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

Derek can feel hot tears welling in his eyes. “I have to go. I love you, and I appreciate this – _all_ of this. I just need to get rid of it.”

Adam releases Derek, and Derek runs to the bathroom. He’s crying hard now, and he can’t help it. He knows his boyfriend is disappointed. He doesn’t know how he thought he could do this.

When he gets back to the living room, the television is off and Adam’s not there. He must have already gone to bed or something. Maybe he went over to his offices to get some work done. Derek curls up on the sofa and cries himself to sleep.

 

The next day, Derek buys Adam a bouquet of roses on his way home to apologise. Derek hates store bought flowers because he thinks they’re tacky, and he believes wild flowers deserve more of a chance to be appreciated, but he knows Adam loves roses. He buys yellow because they’re for apologies, but Adam leaves them on the kitchen counter to wilt. Derek frowns as grabs his keys and goes for a drive.

It’s great, because it’s summer and the evenings are longer. He drives to the edge of Beacon Hills preserve and hikes over to the mountain edge. He sits on the grass, and stares at the sunset. There’s a slight breeze and birds chirp in the trees behind him. It’s technically perfect.

He thinks about the ring in his underwear drawer. How could Adam even consider marrying him now? This wasn’t supposed to be such a big deal. This wasn’t supposed to change how they worked.

He’s startled when a voice interrupts his thoughts.

“What are you doing up here all by yourself?” Derek swivels to see Stiles approaching.

“Jeez, Stiles,” Derek places a hand over his heart, “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Stiles states. He settles down on a patch of grass next to Derek.

“I… Adam and I had a fight.” Derek mumbles.

Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “What about? You guys never fight.”

Derek scoffs. “No, we don’t ever fight. That’s the problem.”

There’s a beat of silence before Stiles realises it’s because Derek is crying.

“Derek…”

“Fuck, I’m so stupid. I don’t know what to do.”

“Derek, what happened?”

Derek is lost for words. He doesn’t know what to say. He just shakes his head and wipes at his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt. “It doesn’t matter. I’m being dumb.”

Stiles scoots towards Derek gently. “You’re not dumb. And you’re not stupid, either, for the record. Whatever’s happened… well, it’s happened. It’s down to you guys to make it better again. But if this is your first fight… then you need to talk yourselves through it. If you just brush it under the rug, then it’ll only come back later.”

Derek understands. And he appreciates that Stiles hasn’t pressed him for the reason. They sit quietly for a few minutes. It’s nicer now, now that Derek isn’t sitting on his own.

“Wait, why are _you_ up here by yourself?”

Stiles laughs. “My dad’s on a _date_ , man. I’ve watched too much TV on my own, and it’s not like I can go over to my dad’s to annoy him.”

Derek laughs too. He watches as Stiles pulls daisies out of the grass and uses his thumbnail to make an indent in the stem. He threads them together to make a daisy chain.

“What did those daisies ever do to you?”

Stiles looks like a deer caught in the headlights. “Oh gosh, sorry. I forgot that you were the plant specialist extraordinaire. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

Stiles loops the daisies together to make a crown. He rests it on top of Derek’s hair. “There. Much better. Much less grumpy.”

Derek feels like an idiot.

Stiles is grinning like one.

 

Derek gets home late, and Adam has waited up for him. Adam must notice his puffy eyes or something, because he comes over and wraps Derek up in a great big bear hug. Derek starts crying all over again.

“I love you, Derek.” Adam says softly. “I don’t want to see you hurting yourself.”

“I’m not hurting myself. I know what I’m doing.” Derek mumbles into Adam’s shoulder.

“Sweetheart. You are hurting yourself. It might not feel like it for you, but you’re too skinny. I need you to try and get better. For me.”

“I am trying.”

“Then maybe we need to try a different way.”

Derek doesn’t even want to meet his eyes.

 

The next morning, Adam has a coffee waiting for him on Derek’s bedside table. He considers it a peace offering. He kisses Adam’s cheek on his way to their study and they carry on their lives like usual.

 

 

The first day back at the college is difficult for Derek. As luck would have it, his first class in the morning is with the same group of students that he passed out in front of a little over two weeks ago. He smiles tightly as he enters the lecture hall and sets up his presentation. He can hear the whispering across the lecture hall. He wishes the shitty navy carpet tiles would just break and let him fall through the floor.

He waits until ten past nine before he begins the lecture to give time to any stragglers who are running a little late. He looks up at the room full of students. They deserve an answer. It was probably a pretty talked about topic. Things like that don’t happen all the time.

“So, I’d like to begin with an apology. Passing out in front of you guys was extremely unprofessional of me, and as a way of making up for it, there’s going to be no reading for next week’s lecture. I hope that’s okay.”

The class laughs, and Derek feels a little more at ease.

That is, until one student raises a hand. Derek feels his blood run cold. He nods in the student’s direction.

“That’s great and all, Derek, but, um, are you alright? Like, are you okay?” The student asks.

It’s an innocent enough question. But it doesn’t stop Derek’s hands from shaking. He just keeps that tight-lipped smile on his face.

“Thank you for the concern. I’m fine – I just wasn’t feeling too great. Should have cancelled the lecture, in retrospect.” He rolls his eyes dramatically for the benefit of the class. “I took some time to rest and I’m feeling much better. Now, let’s get onto the topic of this week: we’re looking at how pollution has had a detrimental effect on the plant species found near the equator.”

 

 

 

He gets home pretty late, and he can tell from his voice that Adam is on the phone in the living room. He enters quietly as so not to disturb, but his ears perk up when he hears his sister’s name.

“I’ve been _trying_ , Laura. He just keeps on throwing it up again.”

Derek stands motionless in the doorway.

“I know, you’re right. You’re totally right. That’s what I’ve been doing. Yeah. I read it online, you can melt butter into coffee and it literally tastes the exact same – it’s the same with sugar. I know. But it’s better for him not to know.”

Derek’s stomach twists. Adam’s bought him coffee at least twice a day _every_ day since the argument. That’s been over two weeks now. Derek’s been consuming god knows how many extra calories every day – and Adam cooks meals for them every day as well. How much shit has Adam been hiding in his food without him knowing?

He’s fucking furious.

He’s humiliated.

He’s heartbroken.

He doesn’t know how to feel.

“Yeah. You know I love him, Laura. I fell in love with _Derek_ , not with a bulimic.” Adam continues. Derek watches as his boyfriend stomps on his heart from the living room sofa. The ‘B’ word hurts more than he’d expected.

He drops his work bag on the floor so Adam turns around. Derek watches as his face pales and he begins to stammer.

“You fucking _asshole_.” Derek hisses, before turning and walking straight back out of the front door.

He can hear Adam running after him and calling his name, but he ignores it. He gets in his car and drives out of the parking lot and straight up to the preserve.

He’s at that mountain edge where Stiles came and met him last time, but he’s on his own this time around. It’s still summer, but the sunset is hidden behind clouds and the sky looks as though it’s threatening to rain. If he thought about it harder, he’d probably come to the conclusion that it was a metaphor for his life.

He checks his phone and sees several missed calls from both Adam and his sister. He ignores them, and simply lets the hot, angry tears roll down his cheeks as he stares on out at the lights of the city far away from him.

He feels so goddamn stupid, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

 

 

At about one-thirty in the morning, he decides to head back. It’s dark now, and he uses the flashlight from his phone to guide the way. It’s raining now, huge pelts of water hitting his skin and dripping off of his bangs. He’s shivering, but he didn’t bring a coat, but he’s nearly at his car, so it’s tolerable.

To make him feel even more stupid than he already feels, he stumbles down over a log and scrapes up his knee through his khakis. It doesn’t hurt half as much as he thought it would. He’s probably too wound up to notice. He gets in the car and drives himself home. He doesn’t turn on the radio. Just sits in angry silence.

Adam has waited up for him again and Derek’s not even grateful this time. He walks straight past Adam, shakes off his grip when he goes to reach for his arm, and heads straight to bed. Adam gets the hint and sleeps on the sofa. Derek cries himself to sleep alone in their bed. Adam’s right there, across the hall, with a hundred reasons why he did this, but Derek feels too alone to talk to him.

 

He doesn’t get the choice _but_ to talk to him in the morning. Derek’s in the bathroom, sat up on the bathroom counter. He brushes his teeth and swings his legs and looks at anything but his reflection. Adam enters with a sympathetic expression which quickly turns into worry when he sees Derek’s knee.

“Jesus, Derek, what happened?” He rushes over and fusses over Derek’s knee. Derek still has his toothbrush in his mouth but he recoils into himself when Adam advances. He leans over and spits into the sink.

“Don’t touch me.” Derek says. His voice is low but his tone is clear and Adam backs away a little.

“Derek…”

“I’m so fucking mad at you right now.” Derek says. He takes the flannel from the side, wets it, and tries to clean the wound on his leg himself.

“I know you are, and I understand. I was just trying-”

“Trying to help, yeah. I get it.” Derek curses when his knee starts bleeding all over again. He brings his leg up and applies pressure. He takes the first aid kit handed to him by Adam and patches himself up with gauze and medical tape. “I told you I know what I’m doing. I don’t need you coming in here and telling me how I should eat, just because it’s how _you_ think I should eat.”

“I admit, what I did wasn’t great, but you needed it, Derek, you can’t starve yourself like this and then expect to be able to teach and garden and everything like normal.”

Derek looks up at Adam for the first time, and his eyes are stony. Adam’s are pleading. “Who said I was fucking starving myself?”

“It’s pretty fucking obvious.” Adam says. Derek scoffs, and hops down from the counter. He pushes past Adam on his way out of the bathroom. He looks back and he knows he looks mad as hell. That’s because he is.

“Then, _obviously_ , you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

 

 

Derek catches sight of the browser history on their shared desktop one afternoon. He notices that Adam’s been searching the definitions of both bulimia and anorexia.

It leaves butterflies in Derek’s stomach. But not the good kind. Not the ‘ _I’m in love for the first time_ ’ kind. The kind that makes Derek feel sick and giddy and just generally Not Great.

He logs onto his Facebook and sees a message from Kira. She mentions that it’d be better for the group to meet on Friday, as she and Malia both have an exam that day. They’d prefer to meet on Friday after college and work and everything. Derek shoots back a message in agreement. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to deal with his friends, but he presumes that that’ll be a problem for Future Derek.

He looks up the prices of houses within cycling distance of the college.

Maybe it’d be best for him to live by himself for a while.

Maybe he could go live with his sister.

He closes the webpage and clears the browser. Things aren’t as bad as he makes them out to be half the time.

He’s just being dramatic.

 

 

 

It’s Friday.

There’s most of their group at the coffee shop. It’s loud and he’s fairly sure that Scott is high, judging by the way he laughs at everything, whether it’s funny or not, and the fact that he flails his arms obnoxiously as he speaks.

Derek brings his knees up to his chest and stares at the pile of napkins on the table. He doesn’t touch his coffee. He can’t trust that there’s not sugar or butter or whatever the fuck Adam’s been putting in his drinks at home swirling around in the mug. Suddenly, the conversations are too loud. The music is thumping and a lady cackles abruptly and Derek’s skin _itches_ and he cringes as he bolts to the bathroom. He locks himself in a cubicle and doesn’t even have to try before he’s vomiting into the porcelain bowl. When he’s done – there’s not even anything to throw up in his system – and he’s just dry-heaving, he steadies himself against the cool tile of the wall and tries to regulate his breathing. He can’t go on like this. He can’t carry on.

 

Stiles is unusually quiet on their walk home from the coffee shop. It’s almost frustrating because all Derek needs right now is some conversation, but he can’t even bring himself to open his mouth.

“So.” Stiles begins. This already doesn’t feel good. “So, I ran into Adam this week. At the grocery store.”

Derek feels his heart sink to his stomach. “Oh?”

“Yeah, he, um, he talked to me about your eating disorder.”

Derek stops walking. “I don’t have an eating disorder.” He mumbles. Stiles turns to face him. There’s an orange glow from a streetlight haloing Stiles’ hair, and Derek wants to run out in front of the traffic.

“Derek. He asked me to keep an eye out on what you were eating at the coffee shop. How many times you went to the bathrooms. He said he talked to your sister about it, and wanted to ‘warn’ me too.”

Derek’s on the verge of hyperventilating. “He said… he’d never…”

Stiles is smart and clues in to what Derek’s trying to say. They’re near a little park, and Stiles steers Derek over to a bench so that Derek can collapse in on himself.

“Der, it’s okay. Deep breaths, buddy. Breathe with me.” Derek follows along as Stiles takes deep, exaggerated breaths.

It takes Derek five minutes to calm down. “He wasn’t supposed to say anything to you guys. We had this deal. I- I don’t even _have_ an eating disorder.”

“Derek. He specifically mentioned-”

Derek shakes his head. “It’s not an eating disorder. It’s _not_. The most it is… is a diet at best. It’s not even that.”

“How… how long has this been going on?”

“Before I met him. _Long_ before.” Derek stares at his hands. “He’s making it into this huge great big deal, and it’s really nothing. It’s a _diet,_ for fucks sake. He just wants me to stop. He wants me to eat all of this food, and I can’t handle it, Stiles.”

“Derek, he just wants you to get better.” Stiles holds a hand over Derek’s shoulder to try and ground him a bit.

“I don’t think… I don’t think I can trust him anymore.” Derek whispers. “He’s been… god, he’s been sneaking shit into my food without me knowing, Stiles, I really don’t know what to do.”

Stiles stops dead in his tracks. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

Derek scrubs his hands across his face. “I know it’s stupid. I know it’s such a little thing for everyone else but-”

“But this is your thing, and he’s broken your trust.” Stiles finishes simply. Derek realises this makes a lot of sense. “Is that why you didn’t drink your coffee?” Stiles kicks at a stone on the floor.

Derek hums in acknowledgment, and looks up at the moon between the branches of the trees. “I know you’re trying to help and I know what you’re saying is true, but if you’re looking to come here and try to _fix_ me or whatever, it’s not going to work.”

“Derek, since when have I ever tried to do that?” Stiles laughs humourlessly to himself. “No, I’m not gonna try to _fix_ or _change_ you or whatever. I’m your _friend_. I like you for who you are. Now, as your friend, I would like you to not be miserable and I want you to be healthy, so I wanna help you do what’s best for you.”

Derek opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off almost immediately.

“But there are some things that I kind of can’t accept. I’m not gonna sit there and watch you starve yourself to death. I’m also really not that cool with your bingeing and purging, but if that’s what you need to do, then,” Stiles just shrugs. “Then I’m not going to stop you.”

Derek crosses his legs and looks over to Stiles. “Why are you being so cool about this?”

Stiles sighs. “Because you need someone who’s not gonna belittle you for this shit. It doesn’t seem like you have anyone like that looking out for you at the moment.” He stands up, and reaches a hand out to Derek. “Do you wanna stay at mine tonight?”

Derek nods, and accepts Stiles’ hand to pull him up.

 

Stiles lives about three blocks from the edge of the preserve. It’s super convenient.

Stiles moved out from living with his dad about a year and a half ago, and he’s got this apartment to himself.

It’s really, really shitty.

The plaster is cracking and there’s a permanent draught throughout the kitchen, no matter the weather.

But Stiles has stuck posters over the cracks in the walls and lights candles in the kitchen to keep it bright and warm.

That’s just who Stiles is.

 

He hands Derek a clean towel and a new toothbrush and a fresh pair of pyjamas and shoos him into the bathroom, mumbling something about finishing one last page on his comic or something. He scurries off down the hallway. Derek watches after him, amused, before turning his back and locking the bathroom door behind him.

Derek stands in front of the bathroom mirror for a while.

There’s something difficult about looking at yourself in the mirror.

You’re not really looking, more assessing. Seeing what’s changed and what hasn’t. What needs to be improved.

Derek grits his teeth and turns his back to the glass and heads into the shower.

There’s something difficult about hating that person you see in the mirror.

 

 

Derek hops out of the shower and changes into the pyjamas. Stiles is waiting up for him. He’s on the sofa and there’s a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. He turns when he hears the noise.

“Hey, man. Good shower?”

Derek nods and settles down on the sofa next to Stiles. “Thanks for this.”

“Anytime.” Stiles recognises that ‘this’ is more than a shower and some pyjamas, but he doesn’t emphasise. It’s not necessary. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”

“Sure. What do you have?”

Stiles just rolls his eyes and hands the remote to Derek. Derek picks a movie and they settle down.

He doesn’t touch the popcorn because he doesn’t know what Stiles has done to it.

 

He actually doesn’t touch any food for three days. He’s too scared of eating something filled with calories that he doesn’t know about. Stiles isn’t fazed, he just makes two of the same shitty meals he’s eating and leaves one on the counter for Derek. No questions asked.

He goes back to his house and lets Adam kiss him to apologise and accepts the bouquet of yellow roses bought from a supermarket in the high street and lets Adam take him to bed and tug his shirt off and unbutton his pants.

He just lets it happen.

He’s too exhausted to say anything otherwise.

Just lets everything happen.

 

He wakes up well before Adam and takes the opportunity to go out for a jog. He can’t go very far because his lungs are burning and his head is pounding, but he comes home and scarfs down an apple and throws it up again. He gets back into bed. Adam hasn’t noticed a thing. Hasn’t even stirred.

 

 

Adam actually has this whole celebration ceremony at his work on Friday night. He’s getting an award, and he’s been looking forward to it for months. Before he realised how fucked up Derek was.

But amazingly, he still wants to bring Derek with him. Derek gets home from college at four thirty and finds his favourite suit laid out on the bed for him. He smiles tightly at the good gesture and goes off to shower. Adam still isn’t home yet, so he spends about thirty minutes in the shower, just trying to get the water to revive him. He uses the body wash that Adam likes the best and wraps a towel around his waist as he heads back into the bedroom.

He hears the front door click but is still busy fumbling with the buttons on his pants.

“Hey, babe.” Adam calls.

“Hi.” Derek replies. He knows when Adam’s nearby because he can hear the sharp intake of breath, which almost definitely means Adam caught sight of his back and is shocked by what he looks like.

Adam’s disgusted. Derek’s nauseated. What’s new?

“Thank you for getting out my clothes.” Derek slips the shirt on properly, and walks over to kiss Adam on the cheek.

“You look beautiful in it.” Adam says as he does Derek’s shirt buttons up.

Derek makes eye contact and narrows his eyes. “Don’t lie to me.”

There’s not an ounce of sugar in his voice and Derek can see Adam visibly wither.

“I’m not-”

“I know you hate what I look like. Have the decency to be truthful to me.”

Adam does Derek’s top button and walks away to shower. It feels like a slap to the face.

Derek feels like he’s on a television drama or some shit.

He finds the tie on the bed. It’s gorgeous. Not one he’s seen before. This should have been the other way around – he should be buying _Adam_ a new tie to celebrate his success. Now Adam’s buying him one to pretend like nothing is wrong.

Adam re-enters the room with a towel around his waist smelling of the same body wash Derek used and with his hair wet against his forehead. Derek turns respectfully when he dresses, but helps his boyfriend do up his tie and put his cufflinks in.

He should have bought him new cufflinks to celebrate.

He got too caught up in his own problems to care about his boyfriend.

 

 

The venue is a pretty fancy city hall. They’ve put mellow, classical music over the speakers, dimmed the lights down to a comfortable glow, and there’s waiters handing out glasses of champagne. Derek declines. Goes to the bar. Orders a vodka soda and watches the bartender like a hawk as he makes the drink.

There’s easily two hundred people here. Most of them are business men and their wives. Derek recognises some of them as colleagues of Adam, but there’s some he doesn’t recognise as well.

Derek spots Adam’s horrible college frat friends and unfortunately makes eye contact with one of them, so he braces himself as they walk over to him.

“Derek, is that you?” One says. Maybe his name is Brad. Or Brian. Or Benjamin.

“Yeah. Hi, how are you?” Derek says forcedly.

“I’m good, man. We didn’t even recognise you at first. You’re so skinny – are you sick?”

Sick of this conversation, maybe. Derek resists rolling his eyes and settles for a simple “No.”

Bobby/Brent/Brennan furrows his brow and slaps Derek on the shoulder. “You’re not one of those _anorexics_ , are you?”

“No.”

“Well, even still, you should be hitting up the gym.”

Derek feels like he could sink to the floor. Luckily, Brendan/Barry/Ben gets distracted pretty easily, and wanders off to another part of the room. Derek sighs in relief and takes another sip of his drink. He peers over the rim of his glass and spots Stiles, Scott, and Lydia across the room taking glasses of champagne from a waiter. He gets up from where he’s leaning on the bar and walks over.

“Hey, guys.”

They look over and smile, and Scott claps Derek on the back. “Derek! How are you man? I bet you’re super proud of Adam.”

Derek glances at the stage and the glass trophies lined up to give out, and nods absently. “Yeah, I am.” He changes the subject quickly. “No Isaac?”

“Nah, not yet. He’s on his way though. I think he had a thing to sort out with his dad, maybe?” Scott’s face falls and Derek notices. “So Lyds is my date tonight.” He throws an arm across Lydia’s shoulders, who rolls her eyes.

“Scott thinks Kira and Malia are going to turn up in about fifteen minutes. Hopefully that’s not before the ceremony starts.” She says, flipping her hair out of her face and detaching Scott’s arm from across her shoulders.

Derek nods, and motions towards the stage. “It shouldn’t be too long now.”

“So, are you nervous?” Scott carries on.

“Nervous?” Derek raises his eyebrows incredulously. “Why should I be nervous? I’m not getting an award.”

“Well, you know. People always are more inclined to propose after they get a win like this. You could get engaged tonight, bro.”

Derek scoffs. “No chance.”

Someone calls over the loudspeaker to ask them all to find their seats, so Derek gets to briefly escape Scott’s dumb statements and Stiles worried glances so he can go find his seat.

It’s next to Adam, so he kisses his cheek and takes his seat. The other people on their table seem to be the other men that Adam worked with on the project and their wives. Derek engages in polite but forced conversation before their entrées are placed in front of them.

See, Derek knew there was gonna be a meal with this ceremony. It was kind of a big deal. But as he glares down at what he can assume is some fancy-ass delicacy in front of him, he feels dizzy. He doesn’t know what’s in it. He doesn’t know the calories. Doesn’t know what’s hidden in it.

But he’s so fucking hungry.

So he makes the decision to pick up his knife and fork, and that’s when it goes downhill pretty quickly.

He eats quickly but in small bites. He’s nearly finished when others are only about halfway through the course, but Adam places a hand on his thigh and gives him a look.

Objectively, Derek knows that the look means _are you okay do you need my help_ but whatever fucked up part of his brain is in charge at the moment tells him he means _stop eating so much, you fat pig_. Derek stops at once. Wipes his mouth with a napkin. Excuses himself. All but runs to the bathroom.

He doesn’t see Stiles do the same from across the room.

 

He’s on his knees in a stall, gripping the seat with one hand and the fingers of the other hand stroking the back of his throat to get that meal back up.

Not for the first time, he questions why he’s doing this.

There were about two hundred other people in that room that could eat normally. That could sit down and eat this unoffending meal without obsessing over the calorie content and the fat percentage and all of this stuff that Derek can’t ignore.

Derek purges until he’s empty, and he’s just dry-heaving over the toilet bowl. This is the part where he hates himself the most. He flushes the toilet and takes a deep breath and goes out to wash his hands.

He doesn’t expect Stiles standing at the sinks.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks tentatively.

“What do you think?” Derek leans over the sink and rinses his mouth out. He wants to shrink up and disappear. He doesn’t want to be rude to Stiles.

“Derek,” Stiles begins.

“No, Stiles. I’m so fucking far from okay.” Derek interrupts. “I’m supposed to be celebrating. I’m supposed to be a proud fucking boyfriend and be supportive. I didn’t even know about this event until I got home from work. I didn’t get him a gift, and now I can’t even just sit down and eat a fucking meal. I can’t do this anymore.”

Derek sits down on the floor and Stiles crouches down next to him.

“What’s ‘this’?”

“This whole not eating thing. I can’t. I’m so fucking scared, Stiles.” His voice drops to a whisper and Stiles notices he’s shaking. “I can’t trust anything anymore. You know what Scott just said, about getting engaged? Two months ago, I was set to give him a ring. Now I can’t even look at him without thinking about him sneaking shit into my food. I feel so fucking useless.”

Stiles opens his mouth to say something, but another guy walks into the bathroom and uses the urinal. Derek considers this a lucky escape and leaves the bathroom before Stiles gets the chance to protest.

 

Adam and Derek get home just after midnight. Derek watches in the mirror as Adam undresses by the window. Not for the first time, he envies his boyfriend’s body. How he can look so effortlessly muscular, how he can order whatever he wants at a restaurant, how he doesn’t even _care_ about what he looks like. Derek would love to have that freedom, but whatever little shit is in his head controlling how everything works is really fucking that up for him.

They get into bed, and Derek slides up to Adam. Adam takes Derek’s cold hands in his own and kisses him on the nose.

“Well done for tonight.” Derek whispers. “I’m proud of you.”

Adam says nothing.

They fall asleep.

 

 

Derek carries on this whole not-eating thing for a week or so after the Incident before he caves. He makes a stupid decision and goes to the bar just past midday. It’s a Saturday, so it’s kind of busy, but he sits at the bar and nurses several vodka sodas by himself. He’s always been a lightweight and he hasn’t really eaten a lot recently, so he gets kind of drunk pretty quickly. In hindsight, he probably looks like the poor bastards who only get out of the house to visit the bar, so he doesn’t stay long. He stops by at the supermarket and probably spends too much buying all the junk food he can get his hands on. He pays blindly – contactless makes it really easy to binge these days – and gets home as soon as he can.

He lays it all out on the kitchen counter and begins to binge. He doesn’t think about it. This feels so soothing, so much better after a week of fasting. He knows he’s crying but he’s too drunk to care.

He hears the door shut but, at this point, he doesn’t give a shit. He looks over his shoulder as Adam walks into the kitchen. He looks like a deer in the headlights as he stands at the door and assesses what Derek’s doing.

He’s never seen this before.

Derek’s been careful to keep it that way.

But now, now everything’s changed.

Derek’s certain that Adam can’t love him anymore. He hates Derek – that’s why he’s been hiding shit in Derek’s food – and Derek couldn’t care less that he looks like a pig with a spoonful of Marshmallow Fluff hanging out of his mouth.

“Derek,” Adam’s voice is soft, like he doesn’t want to startle Derek. “What are you doing?”

“You’re fed up of me not eating enough by myself? Here’s your fucking proof. I do eat.” Derek grumbles.

“Are you drunk?”

“Does it fucking matter to you? Did you sneak off to the bar to hide sugar in my drinks or something?” Derek hops off of the counter and saunters over to Adam. “Of course you wouldn’t have, because that would have been a dick move, _right_?” He leaves Adam in the kitchen as he heads to the bathroom.

“Derek, what the fuck are you doing?” Adam calls.

“It’s the _bulimia_ , darling. You’d know all about it, how much research you put into making sure that I’d never be able to eat properly again.”

Derek knows he’s being dramatic. Knows he’s being over the top. He just can’t help it; for one, he’s inebriated, and second, he’s still really fucking mad.

 

He locks the bathroom door and kneels on the floor by the toilet bowl. He purges, grabs a glass of water, and purges again, all the while with Adam banging on the door and shouting at him. He shouts back at him to fuck off.

He doesn’t know whether it’s the head rush or the alcohol, but he feels pretty faint as he falls to the floor and hits the corner of the countertop on his way down.

 

 

 

Derek wakes up feeling less cocky than he was last night. He just feels like the room is spinning and his head is pounding. When he comes to his senses a little more, he finds that he’s still on the bathroom floor. There’s vomit everywhere. He stands up, and catches his reflection in the mirror. A black eye is purpling over his left eyelid and that whole side of his face is swollen.

He tries to clean up and bleaches the floor, and then takes a long, hot shower afterwards. He switches it to ice cold shortly before he leaves. The shivering helps with the weight thing.

It’s just a thing.

He leaves the bathroom to change into new clothes that aren’t covered in vodka and vomit.

Comfort food is a difficult subject for Derek, but comfort clothes are a complete different thing. He dresses in his favourite sweater and cosy running leggings and pads out to the living room to find his laptop.

Instead of the computer, he finds his sister perched on the couch instead. She’s got a cup of tea in her hands and a copy of her favourite novel propped up on her knee.

“Hey, Der.” She says calmly. She slides a glass of water over to him. He shakes his head, and she sighs, before getting up and going to the kitchen. She brings him an unopened bottle of water, and cracks it open in front of him as he flops down onto the sofa. She also brings an ice pack from the freezer and slaps it over Derek’s eye. He groans and reels backwards.

 “I’m not against you, Derek. I want to help.” She says as he takes a gulp of water.

“Then why the fuck didn’t you tell me what he was doing?” Derek winces at the pain emanating from underneath the ice.

“I didn’t _know_ , Derek. He only just told me then. I found out the same time as you did.” She pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s why I was calling you. To try and let you know.”

Derek doesn’t really know what to say so he just pouts. Laura scoots closer, taking Derek’s hand in an attempt to comfort him.

“Why are you doing this?” Her voice is barely above a whisper but Derek hears her loud and clear.

“It’s really not a big deal.”

“You could die from this.”

“I could die crossing the street, Laura.”

“True,” she clenches her jaw before taking a sip of tea, “But this is different.”

Derek just rolls his eyes.

“I’m being serious. You’re my _brother_. I care about you. Now you need to get your shit together, because I’m not gonna sit here and watch you try and kill yourself.”

One thing that Derek can count on with his sister is that she gets straight to the point.

She grabs his chin and turns his face to get a better look at the black eye.

“You kind of deserve this.” She states, and Derek just sighs.

 

 

He finally gets to escape his sister for a bit and tends to his hangover. He gets straight back into bed and grumbles to himself.

His phone buzzes, so he checks his notifications.

Stiles has sent him a text.

 

**_Hope today is going better for you._ **

****

Derek grimaces at the screen, and slowly taps out a reply.

 

**_Not likely. My sister is here._ **

****

It takes seconds for Stiles to reply.

 

**_I need help on this one particular comic panel, if you want to come over and escape your sister for a bit._ **

****

It takes seconds for Derek to grab his keys and jacket and leave the house.

 

 

 

He’s pulled into Stiles’ apartment by his chin and his head is yanked up to the side.

“Don’t you _fucking dare_ tell me he did this.” Stiles hisses.

Oh, yeah. Derek has a black eye. He forgot about that. He comes to his senses as Stiles is about to blow steam from his ears.

“Relax. I got drunk in the bathroom and hit my head. I’m serious.” Derek takes Stiles’ hand off of his face. “I swear. I’m just an idiot.”

“You shouldn’t have had to be getting drunk like that anyway.” Stiles mumbles, but it’s loud enough and uncertain enough to hear. It hurts. “Come on, let’s get you a drink. A _non-_ alcoholic one this time.”

Derek follows him to the kitchen and stands nervously to the side. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Doesn’t know where to put his hands.

Stiles stands at the counter and looks back at Derek over his shoulder.

“How about coffee?” He says, flicking the kettle on.

Derek doesn’t know how to react. Doesn’t want to refuse. Doesn’t want to drink the coffee.

Stiles sighs, and turns to a cupboard to rummage through. He speaks loudly over his shoulder. “Look. I’m half Polish, right? Which means I’m half European. Now, coffee might be grown and produced in Southern America, but anyone from North _or_ South America can’t brew coffee for _shit_. My mom’s mom used to say there’s nothing like Polish coffee, which is fucking strong, but that’s Eastern Europe for you. Nothing like this fancy-dancy almond-milk-no-foam-no-caffeine bullshit that seems to be custom in every Starbucks across this country.” Stiles turns and produces a bag of ground coffee and holds it up for Derek to see. Derek doesn’t recognise the alphabet printed on the package.

“So, conclusion: Europeans don’t fuck around when it comes to coffee.”

 

Ten minutes later, Derek is perched backwards on a chair, coffee mug in hand, as he watches Stiles colour pages using his tablet.

He’s kind of fascinated. He asks Stiles question after question and still gets a detailed answer at the end of it all. He’s probably being annoying, but Stiles just manages to make a flat image come to life and Derek can’t wrap his head around it. He’s never been artistic. Stiles asked him here to help him colour in some panels, but after thirty seconds, Derek gave up trying and just ended up watching.

Stiles begins to smirk every time Derek asks another question.

“D’you remember when you mocked me for my career when you were weeding that old lady’s front lawn?” Stiles picks up another colour with his stylus and shades in a belt.

“I didn’t _mock_ you. I would never.” Derek says, not taking his eyes off the page. “Spending the whole day in the hot sun is different to being holed up in here. I never mocked you.”

Stiles chews on his lip thoughtfully. “It might not be something smart like teaching or running a sports programme or whatever, but it takes time. And I put a hell of a lot of effort into this shit. It’s like a diary for me.” He scoffs and looks back over his shoulder. “You should feel privileged; not even Scott has seen these panels.”

Derek furrows his brow. “Why not?”

“Because they’re super fucking personal. And Scott doesn’t get it.” Stiles zooms out so Derek gets a look at the whole picture as opposed to the one thing he’s been colouring.

It starts with an image of a crowded club.

There’s two guys dancing. One’s predatory as shit and the other’s expression is clearly not as into it as the other is.

The next two panels involve the second guy being led out of the club by a mass of people, and then to a restaurant.

The last panel is basically just a silhouette. It’s black and grey. But it’s pretty clear that it’s the second guy by himself. Alone.

This must have been what happened after they went to that concert. It’s obvious now.

Derek fiercely wants to hug Stiles.

He sets his mug down on the side.

Fiercely hugs Stiles.

“I should have stayed. Made sure you got home okay.”

“Derek, you didn’t know.”

Derek is kicking himself. He didn’t think. After all Stiles has done for him – he left him on his own. How dare he even think of himself as a friend?

“I didn’t realise.” He says.

“It’s okay. It’s _fine_.” Stiles voice is watery over Derek’s shoulder and immediately Derek pulls him back to arms-length so he can get a proper look. Stiles just smiles. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It _does_ matter, Stiles.”

Stiles just laughs. “My problems aren’t half as bad as yours.”

Derek takes Stiles by the chin, because that’s how they seem to be getting their points across lately, and hopes his words are clear enough to make Stiles understand. “Don’t _ever_ compare your problems to mine. Yours are just as valid. If not more. It doesn’t matter if I’m being dragged through hell backwards; _you matter_.”

Stiles just laughs again. Derek doesn’t see what’s funny. He says as much.

“Derek, you were the one who got me out of that mess anyway. All the others thought it was fine. Thought I was finally getting some, or something. I’m _grateful_.”

There’s a couple of beats of silence. Stiles clears his throat and turns to save his work. “Scott doesn’t really understand. It’s easier for him, because he found Isaac, but I guess he doesn’t really get what it’s like to be by yourself all the time. He thinks it’s just a case of, well, going out and grinding on the first guy you see and then _bam,_ you’re sorted.”

Derek looks at the bottom of his mug. “It doesn’t work like that.”

Stiles laughs again. “No, it doesn’t. But that doesn’t make me feel any better about myself.”

“Stiles,” Derek begins.

“Oh gosh, I’m being the world’s whiniest friend right now. Gosh, sorry.” Stiles shakes his head.

“You’re allowed to be upset.” Derek doesn’t know how to help. He’s always kind of sucked at giving advice, really. But here he is, in Stiles’ shitty study, and all he wants to do is comfort Stiles with some beautiful words that offer sanctuary but he can’t find the right thing to say. He feels useless.

But Stiles is smiling like there’s no problems in the world, and he’s got a hand on Derek’s shoulder, and it’s almost like there’s nothing wrong with anything anymore.

 

They spend the rest of the afternoon sitting on Stiles’ couch reading in a comfortable silence. Derek thinks they both needed this. They sit on the sofa, even though it’s slightly damp from the mould, and half-heartedly develop a blanket and cushion fort, and Stiles had put some background music on, and Derek feels the calmest he’s been in a long time.

Derek glances up at Stiles. His brow is furrowed and he’s really concentrating on _The Order of the Phoenix_ and it’s almost comical. Derek smiles, and looks back to his copy of _Pride and Prejudice_.

 

 

It’s difficult at Derek’s apartment, because his sister is there, and Adam is mopey and giving him the guilty puppy look as often as he can. More and more pamphlets for rehabilitation centres and nutritionists appear on the coffee table, so it becomes part of Derek’s routine to throw them in the trash.

He doesn’t talk to neither his sister nor Adam. He can hear them talking to him but he can’t find words to say back to them. Again, he knows he’s being dramatic, but every time he thinks about what Adam did, he feels sick to his stomach.

He spends most of his time at work or at Stiles’ apartment. And Stiles doesn’t mind – in fact it’s the opposite; he seems grateful to have someone to talk to half the time. Derek fixes up some electrical point that was probably gonna kill Stiles pretty soon, and he revives Stiles’ sad-looking houseplants. He pays for Stiles’ groceries and he feels like that still isn’t enough to repay what he owes Stiles at this point.

 

 

 

It’s a Thursday when Derek gets a text from Lydia.

 

**_Are you free for a drink tonight?_ **

 

He furrows his brow and replies;

 

**_Yeah, I’ll meet you in town for 8?_ **

 

He doesn’t know what this is, but he hasn’t seen Lydia in a while. He admires her intelligence and he could use a conversation about something other than his eating habits.

She is waiting at a bar table when he gets there. She’s ordered him a drink and he zeroes in on it from across the room. He tells himself to _focus, it’s just a drink_ , and then Lydia spots him and gets up from her barstool and leans over to hug him. He doesn’t ignore how _small_ she is, but he tries to make himself forget about it.

They chat about nothing and everything.

It’s good, because they both laugh a lot, and Derek finds himself not caring about the calories in his drink, but focusing more on Lydia’s humorous anecdotes about her law students.

They don’t work at the same college – of course Lydia works at an ivy-league upstate – but students never change, they find, and to find someone with the same job experience is pretty fun. Derek hasn’t been this chill in a long time.

In fact, they talk so long, that the music has faded and most of the people have left the bar. It’s that strange dull moment, where everything’s too quiet and too loud all at the same time. People are at the right level of tired to have deep conversations. Derek spies a couple in a booth nearby who are holding hands under the table and laughing about something stupid. There’s another woman who’s on the phone and she’s curled up on one of the armchairs and she looks close to tears.

“Derek, I don’t know how to phrase this.” She says, reaching over to grab his hand. Derek tenses up immediately. “Is… Does Adam hurt you?”

Derek splutters, and reels backward a little bit. “Lydia – what? No!”

Lydia blushes, and rests her hands on her glass. “Look, I’m just asking. I’m worried about you.”

“There’s nothing to be worried about. I’m just normal Derek.”

“Normal Derek who flinches every time I touch him, and is about half the weight he should be.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Derek, I’m a _lawyer_ , for fuck’s sake. Half of my clients prosecuting their partners for abusive relationships behave exactly the same way as you’ve been.”

“I get it, Lyds. You’re concerned. But truly, there’s nothing to worry about. Honestly.” He forces himself to put his hand back on hers. She smiles softly.

 

When he gets back to Stiles’ apartment, he flops down on the sofa next to Stiles. He’s been working on some post-grad something or other and has kind of made a blanket den on the sofa. He’s got about four blankets on him and Derek’s fairly sure his laptop is somewhere in that pile. Stiles slides a cup of peppermint tea over to Derek.

“How’s Lydia?” Stiles asks.

“She’s good. She said Allison has planned a mini-vacation for them to go to Paris together, which should be good.”

Stiles narrows his eyes and props his head up on his hands. “Something’s not right.”

Derek sighs in frustration. “She asked me if Adam was abusive towards me.”

“You told her yes, right?”

“What?” Derek doesn’t understand.

“Well, he was.” Stiles says matter-of-factly. He continues when he sees Derek’s face of confusion. “Okay, well, forgive me if I overstep, but the whole food thing? That’s a control thing. And he went behind your back and all that. It might not be a physical thing as such, but it was definitely an emotional thing. Right?”

 

 

 

Derek stays up until three am on Stiles sofa googling things to try and make himself understand what happened a bit better. He stumbles across a women’s rights page with the words _cohersive control_ across the header and suddenly things make a lot more sense.

He doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

 

 

Stiles, for some fucking miraculous reason, knows exactly when something’s up. Derek thinks he’s probably psychic. But it’s a Tuesday in the middle of the autumn and Derek’s mopey faces must be more obvious than he thought they were because Stiles tosses his car keys on Derek’s chest from where the older man is lounging on the sofa.

“Get up. Let’s go for a drive.”

Derek drives and they turn the music onto something slow. It’s pretty great because it’s the middle of the week and the roads are fairly empty. Derek drives to the middle of nowhere just because he can. Derek drives as if he’s carefree and he actually enjoys it.

“I never asked. Why do you have this fancy ass car if you can cycle to work?” Stiles says softly, tugging at the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Because it’s part and parcel of having ostentatious parents. Not mine, but Adam’s. It was a kind of graduation gift thing.”

“They bought you a Camero?”

“Yeah.” Derek drums his fingertips on the steering wheel. “They’re from the south and Adam’s mom invented this kitchen cleaner thing, I don’t know. She became this local hero and they ended up becoming pretty fucking loaded from it.”

“Huh.” Stiles says. He starts chewing on his hoodie strings.

 

It starts raining, and the wipers come on, and they drive up a twisting hill. There’s a turning, and someone cuts them off.

For some reason, it really irritates Derek. He shouts every expletive he knows, long after the car has driven away. He doesn’t notice Stiles shrinking back into his seat or shooting him nervous glances.

It’s probably embarrassing.

But this isn’t about the guy who cut them off.

There are tears rolling over Derek’s cheekbones and he tries to pull over into a layby. He turns the engine off and leans his head against the steering wheel and just cries.

Stiles leans over and throws his arms across Derek’s shoulder. He turns, and they hug awkwardly over the centre console.

“Cohersive control.” Derek says, his voice muffled by Stiles’ flannel. “That’s what it is.”

Derek doesn’t see Stiles’ teary expression, because he keeps his own face tucked into Stiles’ neck. “That’s what it is.” He repeats.

“I need to leave him for real now.” Derek mumbles.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles could laugh for how silly that sounds right now. “You have _nothing_ to be sorry about.”

Derek pulls back and wipes his eyes, before looking over at Stiles again. “Well, at least I’m sorry for getting your shirt all gross.”

Stiles looks down at his shoulder, and laughs. “Nothing a washing machine can’t fix.” He takes a calculated look over to Derek. “Do you want me to drive?” Derek nods, and they get out of the car to switch sides. Somewhere around the bonnet, Stiles pulls Derek into a fierce hug. It’s still raining, and they both get soaked through, but Derek feels warm inside.

“I’m proud of you, Derek.” He mumbles.

It’s easy with Stiles, because there’s no hidden bullshit about him. He makes talking about things easier. Derek sits with his knees to his chest as Stiles takes the scenic route home.

They go to Stiles’ apartment and Stiles brews some tea in thermoses whilst Derek reads the package of tea. Stiles grabs some blankets and pillows and throws them into an Ikea bag. He takes Derek’s hand and drags him out of the apartment and up the main staircase.

“Where are you taking me exactly?” Derek says as he struggles to keep pace with Stiles and not trip up on the steps.

“One of my favourite places. Come on.”

Stiles leads them up another three flights of stairs and leaves them panting, but then finds a door. He picks the lock too effortlessly, and beckons Derek to come and join him.

They’re on the roof of the building, funny enough. It’s probably coming up to about seven in the evening, and because it’s autumn, the sky is already dark and there’s stars starting to appear over by the preserve.

It’s Beacon Hills. It’s nothing glamorous. But in this moment, where the streetlights are painting the roads orange, and the breeze is just right, and the tea in his hand is warming his whole body, Derek feels more comfortable than he has done in weeks.

“This is beautiful, Stiles.” Derek says, absently noticing that Stiles has set up a blanket and pillow fort over by the edge. There’s a little railing, so Derek doesn’t feel too nervous, so he finds his favourite cushion from the couch and sits down. He lets Stiles drape a blanket over him, and immediately is grateful for the warmth. They lean up against an old air conditioner unit and Derek watches as Stiles leans back and sighs at the view.

“I know we see this place every day, but there’s something about seeing it from a distance. You can kind of ignore the imperfections that we see and just look at it as a whole – and it’s pretty spectacular.”

“Like your apartment?” Derek jokes. Stiles bumps into him playfully.

“Hey.” Stiles protests. “ _Exactly_ like my apartment.”

Derek rolls his eyes and sips his tea.

“It’s weird how people don’t shut their curtains when they’re home alone.” Derek mumbles.

“Like who?”

He points to an apartment block nearby. “Look. That lady is clearly having a one-person-dance-party in her apartment. I feel like a stalker.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean. We are kind of being stalkers. Strictly speaking, we’re not even supposed to be up here.”

“We’re Beacon Hills’ resident peeping toms.”

Stiles laughs, and his laugh sounds like medicine. It’s not sweet, not dainty, (it’s goofy if anything) but it makes Derek feel more comfortable. He lets his face drop and he looks at his thermos.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Dude, I already said, you don’t need-”

“I’m still going to say sorry. I should have realised it earlier, and done something about it, but I didn’t, and I’m annoyed at myself. So I’m sorry.” Derek says, and he stares down at the next apartment block. Watches a man practice piano.

“I’m not upset at you or anything, so there’s no need to apologise. I’m just happy you figured it out. I’m… honestly, I’m kind of proud of you. You’ve been through _a lot_ this last few months, Derek, and I don’t know how you’ve made it through to this point. So yeah, I’m proud of you.” He pauses, and looks over to Derek. “Was that soppy?”

Derek looks back at him. “A little.”

There’s this weird lapse of time where Derek doesn’t breathe, because Stiles leans in and kisses him. It’s slow, and soft, and nothing like Adam. He’s got his hands pressed to Derek’s cheek and his thumb smoothing over his stubble. It feels like a cup of tea, a cosy blanket, fresh pyjamas. It feels like the posters over the cracks in Stiles’ walls. It feels like home.

It’s over too quickly. Stiles leans back and his hands start shaking immediately.

“Oh my god, I’m the world’s biggest idiot. You’re in the middle of a breakup – I shouldn’t have – I’m sorry.”

“Stiles.”

“No, it’s my fault, you probably didn’t want that in all of this –”

“ _Stiles._ ” Derek says again, and Stiles stops blabbing and looks up at Derek. Derek smiles. “It’s fine.”

Stiles exhales heavily, and smiles too. “Then can I do it again?”

Derek nods.

They stay on the roof long after their teas have gone cold and the apartment building’s lights have gone out. Derek’s hands go white and blue from the cold, but Stiles takes them in his own to keep them warm.

 

 

Derek spends the next week hibernating in Stiles’ apartment. He mopes and he cries and he is just generally acting like a stroppy teenager. He does sit ups on the floor by his bed until he is red in the face, and breathless, but they make him feel saner. He takes a shower after four days and the hot water and shampoo on his greasy hair makes him feel so much better. He angles himself away from the mirror as he puts some comfy clothes on, and then pads out to the living room. Stiles is in his study working on something or other, and Derek doesn’t know if he’s really busy or not, so he heads to the kitchen to try and make himself some coffee.

Coffee, it seems, is a safe thing now. Derek has inspected all of the ground coffee in Stiles’ pantry, and the guy doesn’t even _own_ any butter – _“It’s like lube for toast, Derek, I don’t need to put lube on my bread before I slap some strawberry jam on that shit” –_ and Derek likes the way that Stiles’ cafétière makes him feel fancy. He makes coffee for himself (black, no sugar), and one for Stiles (milk, two sugars) and delivers it to Stiles’ office. He knocks, and Stiles swivels around on his chair as Derek walks in.

“Hi.” Derek says, handing a mug to Stiles.

“Hi. You’re literally an angel, did you know that?” Stiles says as he takes a sip of his drink before setting it on his coaster.

“Haha. No.” Derek says softly. “How’s it going?”

Stiles sighs and scrubs his face. “It’s all okay so far. I’m just a bit stuck on a panel and my brain’s turned to mush, but it’s fine.”

Derek shuffles awkwardly. “If you wanna take a break, there’s an errand I needed to do, and I kind of need your help?”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “It’s picking your stuff up from your apartment, isn’t it?”

“Yup.” Derek sighs. “It’s all my clothes and stuff. I don’t have a lot, but there’s enough for it to be a two person job.”

Stiles sighs, smiles, and scoots over on his chair to grab hold of Derek’s waist. Derek flinches, so Stiles automatically redirects his hands to lace through Derek’s fingers instead. “That’s all okay, Der. Let me finish up and I’ll be with you in a second.”

Derek nods, leaves, grabs his coffee from the counter, and goes into the bathroom to shake, and throw up a bit. Just to calm himself down. Just to help him feel grounded. He repeats this in his head as he’s dry-heaving over the toilet bowl.

 

 

It’s four-forty-five in the afternoon, and Derek’s just finishing packing his stuff from their room. He forgot what Adam smells like – like spearmint and cloves and green tea all at the same time. He doesn’t feel guilty stealing one of Adam’s shirts. He’s in the midst of packing his underwear drawer as Stiles enters the room.

“How’s it going?”

Derek sighs, but holds up the ring box he finds to Stiles. “Never got round to giving this, did I?”

“No, you didn’t.” Stiles says, gently taking the box out of Derek’s hand and packing it amongst some socks and things. “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Derek scoffs, and goes back to pulling socks out of his drawer.

“I think this is the last box. I just gotta get some books from the study.”

Stiles frowns. “Are you just gonna clear off?” He says.

Derek understand what he means. He’s trying to say that they should probably wait around for Adam to get home so that he and Derek can talk this out properly. Derek just can’t fathom the idea of having to break up with the guy he wanted to spend the rest of his life with just six months ago.

Derek sighs resignedly, and nods. “You’re right. I should probably stay.”

They sit on the sofa, and they go over what Derek needs to say, and Derek’s hands shake like mad so he grabs onto one of their throw pillows and plucks at the fabric furiously.

“Derek, it’s gonna be fine.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Hey,” Stiles says, reaching over and gently placing his hand on Derek’s cheek. It’s comforting but all at the same time it sets Derek on edge. “It’ll be okay. You’re safe.”

Derek gently takes Stiles hand and takes it away from his face. “Not here. I… I can’t.”

Stiles nods understandingly, and gets up to look through Derek’s DVD collection.

 

Adam arrives about two hours later. Derek has napped on the couch. Stiles has taken all his boxes to the Jeep. Derek has wiped traces of everything to do with him from the apartment.

Needless to say, Adam is shocked to see Derek. He drops his bag on the floor by the door and approaches Derek the same way one would approach a stray dog.

“Derek. Oh my god.” He rushes over to where Derek is standing behind the couch, but Derek flinches and folds his arms around himself. Adam backs away slowly. “Where have you been? I thought you’d gone for good.”

“Adam…” Derek sighs. “I kind of am going for good.”

Adam cocks his head and Derek wishes the floor would give in beneath him so he could just disappear. “I’m leaving. I’ve got my stuff. I just figured I owed you an explanation.”

“If this is about the food thing, then I’m sorry… I’ve said I’m sorry.”

Derek scoffs. “It’s a bit more than just saying sorry, Adam. You fucked me up pretty bad. You put me in an abusive relationship.”

“What?” Adam exclaims. Derek feels sick.

“You controlled what I ate. That’s a form of abuse, Adam. I can’t eat anything properly anymore. I can’t do anything, and it’s because you went behind my back.”

“I know, and that wasn’t what I meant-”

“I know it’s not what you meant to do. But it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I can’t trust you after that. You’re smart enough to understand that.”

“Derek.” Adam says, reaching over to place a hand on his cheek. Again, Derek flinches away. Adam looks hurt, and if this were six months ago, Derek would have leaned in and kissed the frown off of his face.

But this is not six months ago.

This is early August and Derek is shaking underneath his sweater. This is Adam standing in front of him with his sleeves rolled up and this is Stiles waiting in the Jeep downstairs with his phone on loud in case Derek needs him.

“No, Adam. I can’t.”

Derek can feel his nose prickling and he needs to leave _now_ because he can’t let Adam see him crying again, so he grabs his jacket from the sofa and sets to leave. “I’ve taken my inheritance out from the bank account and taken my name off of all the documents. My key is in the dish in the hall.” Derek can’t stop it quick enough and the tears come falling freely as he rushes to the front door.

“Derek, please don’t go. We can work this out, please just stay.” He blocks the front door and Derek’s heart picks up. He glances at Adam, who has his own tears on his cheeks, but he can’t cave.

“You know I can’t.”

Adam sighs, and wipes away Derek’s tears with his thumb. Derek lets him.

“Can I… can I just kiss you? One last time?”

Derek nods, and so Adam kisses him. It’s watery and emotional, and it brings back so many memories, but Derek is stronger than this.

He pulls away, smiles softly at Adam. “Please take care of yourself.” He mumbles, and leaves. Stiles lets him cry in the car the whole way home.

 

 

 

It gets pretty bad pretty quickly after Derek leaves Adam. His body aches and his BMI’s in the basement. He surveys himself in the bathroom and he can see his ribcage too well.

He knows it’s gotten bad. Too bad. But he can’t stop. Maybe the grief or whatever it was fuelled this to get worse. Maybe he’s just stressed. But he can’t keep on like this; can’t keep getting dizzy every time he stands up, can’t keep going on just water and coffee, can’t do this anymore.

He takes leave for a while and spends his time in Stiles’ apartment reading the classics and doing sit ups on the carpet when Stiles isn’t around. It’s not that he doesn’t want to go to work; he just doesn’t think he can manage the bike ride there.

He doesn’t even think it’s about the weight anymore. He thinks that ship sailed long ago.

 

It takes Stiles finding him passed out on the floor for things to change. He finds himself being propped up on the sofa.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He slurs. “I just got tired.”  He brings himself to meet Stiles’ eyes and it’s the first time he’s noticed that Stiles looks really, really scared.

“You need to see a doctor.” Stiles says.

“I’m fine.”

“Derek. You’re not fine. You know this.” Stiles has got a bottle of water for Derek somehow and Derek accepts it gratefully. He has to pass it back to Stiles to crack the lid because he doesn’t have the energy. He stays silent so Stiles carries on for him.

“You’re going to die if you carry on like this. I’m not fucking around here, Derek. You _need_ to get this sorted out.”

And what can Derek say? He knows he’s gotten bad. He can’t breathe without rasping and he can barely climb the stairs anymore. He nods.

“You’re right.”

He hears Stiles sigh in relief. It feels like he’s accepted that he fucked up. It feels like he’s confessed that he’s guilty of a crime.

He feels horrible.

“What do we do now?”

Stiles rocks back on his heels from where he’s kneeling on the floor in front of the sofa. “Would you be cool with going to the hospital now? Because honestly, Derek? I don’t think you’re safe right now.”

What he’s trying to say is that he thinks Derek’s gonna die on his couch. So Derek nods, and Stiles instructs him to drink the water, as he goes about collecting things from his house. He’s on the phone to someone (Derek assumes he’s talking to Scott) as he drapes a hoodie over Derek’s shoulders and puts some shoes on for him.

Stiles actually tries to carry Derek down the stairs, but Derek freaks out a little bit, so he tries to walk. It takes him about ten minutes longer than it should do but he gets to the car and curls up in the passenger seat. He doesn’t understand why he’s freezing cold in September. Stiles reaches to the back seat and tucks a blanket around Derek. He turns the passenger seat heat on and starts to drive without asking any questions.

The drive to the hospital feels long and awkward. Derek feels like his brain is trying to push its way out of his skull and he closes his eyes but it does nothing to help.

“Are you hurting?” Stiles asks, glancing over at Derek.

“No.”

Derek knows that Stiles knows he’s not telling the truth.

 

Melissa meets them at the hospital, like expected. She looks at Stiles first and then offers Derek a wheelchair. Derek feels sick as he sits in the tacky black pleather seat. He uses the blanket to hide how he pinches at his skin.

He’s wheeled to a private room where Melissa firstly checks his weight – which has him trembling and nauseous. She guides him to a bed and lets him settle himself, before taking his vitals and hooking him up to an IV. He starts to panic at this point, because he’s heard that IVs are ridiculously high in calories, and it could just be sugar in water, and he wouldn’t know – but his heart monitor starts beeping like crazy. Stiles places his hand on Derek’s and the older man swivels to check Stiles’ expression.

“Der, you need to calm down. It’s all going to be fine.”

“It’s just-”

“I know. But you gotta trust Melissa here. She knows what she’s doing.”

Derek tries to steady his breathing so he closes his eyes. The lights are too bright in here. He hates florescent bulbs, he thinks belatedly.

He opens his eyes to see Melissa scratching words down onto a form and checking the heart monitor at the same time.

“Okay, Derek. I’m going to run these things through and see what the other nurses say. Do you want a drink, or a snack, or anything?”

Derek freezes, but Stiles answers for him. “Can we get some warm water if that’s okay?” Melissa nods, and leaves the room.

Derek closes his eyes again. “This is stupid.” He mumbles. “I told you, I’m fine. It’s under control.”

Stiles hesitates, but rubs his thumb over the back of Derek’s hand. “Derek, it’s not. It’s really not this time. You have to listen to what Melissa says, okay?”

He doesn’t understand, but he can see the teary expression on Stiles’ face, and that only makes him feel worse.

“I’m sorry to be so dramatic.”

Stiles scoffs. “This is not your fault.”

 

They sit in silence for about twenty minutes before Melissa returns. She pulls up a chair and sits beside the bed, clipboard in hand.

“Derek, I’m not gonna bullshit you here. You’re pretty severely underweight here.” Derek nods. He looks at the bleached sheets underneath him and notices a thread pattern. He hears Melissa shift her position. “If Stiles hadn’t have found you, you would probably be dead by now, Derek. This isn’t a joke.”

She’s pissed. Derek gets it. So does Stiles.

But it doesn’t make Derek feel any better.

“Melissa.” Stiles says, and she straightens up and changes her tone.

“Sorry. I’m just worried about you.” Her eyes flicker nervously between Derek and Stiles. “Okay. Professional Melissa here. You basically have three options right now. One, you go home, you try and sort out your eating disorder by yourself, and you see how it goes. You are smart enough to realise that this won’t help you at all.

“Number two, you can go home, but stick to a regimented dietary plan which involves fuck-tons of Ensures and it’s fucking awful.” She grimaces slightly, which does nothing to reassure Derek. “Or your third option here is to go into inpatient. You do group therapy six days a week and individual assessments every other day.”

“I’m not going fucking inpatient.” Derek says immediately. He hears Stiles sigh.

“Derek.”

“Actually, Derek, it’s not as awful as they make it out to be on TV.” Melissa says. “The program here is one of the best in the state. It’s honestly your best bet of getting better.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, but purses his lips.

“You don’t need to choose right now. I need you to get some rest, and let the IV do it’s work for the time being. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

Melissa leaves, the door clicking shut quietly behind her.

“It’s not my place to say, but I really think the program is going to be the best option for you.” Stiles says softly. “I don’t… I don’t know if I’d be able to help you properly in my apartment. It’s three floors up…”

 

Derek’s not an idiot. He understands when somebody is trying to hint to him. He sighs in resignation. “I don’t want to do this. But I get what you mean. I’ll do the inpatient.” He knows he’s swayed easily, but he’s apparently useless when it comes to Stiles.

 

 

Three days later, he’s admitted to the Beacon Hills Rehabilitation Clinic, where he’s steered to his room after going through several routine checks that involve scales and tape measures and he feels sick to his stomach. He drops his (thoroughly-searched) duffel bag by the door and takes in his surroundings.

It’s pretty simple, and everything is super basic. He nudges the end of the bed with his foot. It’s not bolted to the floor. It already exceeds his TV/movie expectations.

 

Mealtimes are pretty fucking awful. They don’t let him leave the table until his meal is finished, and most times he just stares at the plate until the food is cold and begs a nurse not to make him eat it, not this time, just this once. He gets away with it some times.

There’s this one time when he’s been there for about a week and a half. He’s given this meal and he just _can’t_. It’s not even too bad, just full of carbs and fats like normal and he just gives in. Just cries into his plate. What starts off as silent sobbing turns into shaking and blubbering which turns into a full blown panic attack and he ends up locking himself in a bathroom and curling up on the floor and just trying to remember how to breathe properly.

He doesn’t know how long he’s in there for.

He knows that there’s care staff knocking for him.

He just can’t get up.

Eventually someone opens the door. He doesn’t expect it to be Stiles, but here he is. He looks flushed, like he’s been running, his flannel is on inside out, and his eyes are wide like a deer in headlights.

Stiles immediately gets on the floor and hugs him tight. Derek gasps for air like he’s drowning.

“I can’t do this, Stiles. I can’t.”

“Derek, listen to me. You can. You’re doing so well. Trust me.”

Derek just shakes his head. “No, no, I’m not. Stiles, I can’t be here.”

“Okay.” Stiles lets him go and holds his shoulders at arms length. Stares him down. “Melissa said this is what’s best for you and I agree. I can’t… I can’t look after you at home. You need to get better. And that’s all these people here are trying to help you do. They’re not bad, Der, they’re just trying to make sure you’re getting enough nutrients in. They are trying to help you.”

Stiles cups Derek’s face in his hand and rubs his cheek with his thumb.

“I can’t eat the food, Stiles. I don’t know…” he cuts himself off.

“Okay.” Stiles says, and gets to his feet. “Come on, I’ll help.” Derek reluctantly takes his hand, and Stiles squeezes it back. They walk to the canteen and Derek can feel the eyes of the nurses on him as he walks along. Stiles sits Derek down at one of the tables. He pushes him into the chair to ground him, and leans in to whisper to him.

“You stay here. I’ll be back in a second.”

 

Stiles disappears into the kitchen, and Derek watches a nurse follow. Derek watches as a girl a couple of tables over cries into her pasta. A nurse is rubbing her back and trying to comfort her. Derek understands, but his heart sinks. She’s gotta be sixteen, seventeen, and Derek can see her collarbones as if they’re sitting atop her chest.

A couple of minutes later, Stiles returns, beaming, and grabs Derek’s hand.

“C’mon.”

Derek is led into the kitchen, where some of the staff are still clearing down from dinner. Stiles hops up onto a counter and motions for Derek to stand in front of him, and so Derek does, and Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders.

“Look.” Stiles says simply, and they watch as a member of the kitchen staff cuts up vegetables in front of him. Derek is trembling and shaking as he watches her add them to a pot of boiling water. She hands him the packet of rice, which is sealed.

It goes like this: she cooks a meal and Derek watches her like a hawk. Derek makes sure nothing’s added that he doesn’t know about. Stiles makes sure Derek doesn’t freak out.

Fifteen minutes later, Derek and Stiles are seated at the table, and Stiles has a mug of tea in front of him whilst Derek eats his meal. It’s gotta be past ten in the evening, but Stiles apparently doesn’t care, as he tells anecdote after anecdote to make Derek laugh. He forgets about eating, just goes by muscle memory, before he looks down and sees that he’s finished pretty much all of the plate. His blood runs cold quickly, but Stiles warms him up again by taking Derek’s freezing hands in his own tea-warmed ones.

“See? They’re not out to get you. You are safe.” Derek nods. “But… Der, you can’t lock yourself in a bathroom like that. It freaks them out. That’s why they called me.”

“Thank you for coming. You didn’t have to; it wasn’t a big deal-”

“Derek,” Stiles lets out a shaky breath, “You are the most important thing to me. I… I need to make sure you’re okay.”

This hits Derek like a punch in the gut. He doesn’t understand. Stiles gets up from his seat and comes round to lean into Derek. Derek can hardly breathe.

“Please… just try. Just, _try_ to get better. I know it’s hard. But you can call me whenever you want and I’ll come straight here.”

Derek immediately wraps his arms around Stiles. Doesn’t even think about sucking in his stomach.

“I’ll try.” He whispers, and Stiles leans back, puts his hands gently on Derek’s face, and kisses him fiercely.

“You can do this.”

 

Stiles leaves and Derek retreats back to his room to grab his toothbrush. He looks out of the window, and sees the familiar blue Jeep in the car park. He watches Stiles walk to the car, unlock it, and hop in the driver’s seat. What he doesn’t expect is Stiles to hunch over the wheel. He’s crying; Derek can tell by the way his shoulders shake and Derek is hit with a pang of guilt. He’d do anything to make sure Stiles never cries again.

He has to get better.

If not for him, it’s gotta be for Stiles.

 

The next week, Derek finds a small package for him lying on his pillow, about the size of a CD case. He opens the envelope, and lets this booklet fall out of the packet.

It’s from Stiles. This boy has made him a comic.

It’s this story about a wolf. The wolf begins in a pack, with six or seven wolves around him. He seems content, but he’s followed by this dark fog for ages. The fog gets so thick, it makes him lose his pack, and he wanders further into the woods and gets lost. He wanders aimlessly, and he finds himself stumbling near the edge of a cliff. Then suddenly, there’s this bright orange fox. The fox teaches the wolf how to shake away the fog, and they trick it into following one of the brightest stars and it ends up turning itself into a cloud. The fox leads the wolf away from the cliff’s edge and back to the safety of the pack.

It’s short. Maybe 20 pages. Stiles has written on the last page.

 

_Hope this isn’t too big-headed of me. Get better soon._

  * _S_



 

Derek nearly chokes. It’s a story about him, and this boy has spent ages crafting it into this amazing story. Derek pores over the pages whenever he has time to himself. It’s the final push he finds himself in need of.

 

It takes him three more weeks to hit a stable weight. That’s what they call it. Derek kind of hates himself, but being able to stand for longer and not being so tired is very welcoming. He smiles at the nurse who’s taking his measurements. It’s the same nurse who let him and Stiles go into the kitchen. Derek doesn’t necessarily trust him, but he definitely is Derek’s favourite.

He gets a therapist as part-and-parcel of being inpatient. His therapist is nice; she’s called Georgina and she’s just a bit older than his sister. She asks about his family, asks about Stiles, asks about food. The questions about Adam are the worse. She isn’t judgemental at all, but her scribblings on a clipboard make him shaky and he has to down several glasses of water to be able to sit still.

He usually calls Stiles after particularly heavy sessions, and they chat on the phone for as long as Derek is allowed. They usually chat about nothing. There’s this one Thursday where Derek is having a particularly low day, and has to cover himself in sweats and a huge jumper so he doesn’t have to think about his body. He curls up in a ball in one of the hard, plastic coated chairs by the pay phones. He listens to Stiles talk about his day; how Kira managed to cause a power outage in her entire building somehow, how Scott _finally_ saved up enough to buy that cashmere scarf that Isaac’d been eyeing up all season, how Boyd had fixed Stiles’ Jeep again for him. Derek listens contentedly.

“So how are _you_? I’ve spent all of this time rambling, I’m sorry.”

Derek laughs softly. “It’s not too bad. They’re saying I’m at a stable enough weight to go home soon.”

“Der, that’s great!”

Derek twirls the phone cord between his fingers. “Yeah. They have to set me up with a nutritionist first. And I have to do another two group sessions.”

“You sound nervous.” Stiles says, not maliciously.

“I _am_. What if I fuck it up?”

“You won’t fuck it up, Derek. You’ve proved you’re strong by yourself, not to mention I’m gonna be around to help you out.”

“And that’s _another_ thing. I can’t keep sleeping on your couch forever. I’m technically homeless.”

Derek can hear Stiles shift in his seat. “You know I don’t mind you over at mine. You’re the best part of my apartment.”

“Would you… would you want to move out with me?” Derek blurts out. He hears Stiles’ breath hitch. “Sorry… it’s okay if not… it’s just, we could live in a place where the kitchen cupboards aren’t mouldy. And where the walls aren’t crumbling around us.”

“Derek.”

“I’m sorry.” Derek mumbles, already hating himself for bringing it up. “I shouldn’t have said-”

“No, Derek. That sounds like the best thing ever.”

Derek smiles. “You think?”

“Yeah. We could move somewhere that has a garden that you could look after. Somewhere where I could have an office that actually has some form of natural light.”

“So you’d want to move in with me?”

“I’d love to.”

 

 

Derek gets discharged after another nine days. Stiles is waiting at reception for him. He can barely contain his grin as he throws his arms around Derek.

“You look… you look amazing.”

He feels it, as well. He can walk without being in pain and he’s no longer thinking about the hunger pangs in his stomach. He doesn’t have a permanent migraine all the time.

He kisses Stiles right then and there, in front of the hospital with everyone watching. The kiss leaves them both breathless and grinning.

“Holy shit, I think I’m in love with you.” Stiles says.

The smile on Derek’s face practically stretches to his ears. “Thank god, because I was about to say the same about you.”

They kiss again until they get caught in this sudden shower that comes down. Laughing, they run to the Jeep, where they steam up the car.

 

They find a beautiful, storybook house in the middle of town. It’s near the preserve and the college and the police station and it’s perfect. It's kind of huge and extravagant, but Derek sells his Camero in favour of a cheaper car instead, so they have some money to spare. There’s a garden all around the building, and Derek takes it from it’s unkempt state to one of beauty. His elderly neighbours express their admiration. Most of them enlist Derek to tend to their own gardens, and shower him and Stiles with plates of cookies and banana bread and other baked goods. Derek takes them graciously but rarely eats them.

In fact, he and Stiles barely eat sugar any more. They’ve both been on this health kick recently. They’ve never been more in shape than they are now. Derek signs them both up to the gym and they go three times a week, and are that sickening pair who do ‘couples yoga’ and ‘couples workouts’ but they couldn’t be happier.

 

Stiles gets his first big break just before Christmas. A publishing agency is interested in his comics. He sends them copies, and they love them. In fact, Stiles signs a deal that promises a hefty paycheck and nationwide recognition for his comics.

They celebrate in the living room with a bottle of champagne. Derek straddles Stiles’ lap, pours champagne into the younger’s mouth, and sloppily kisses away all the drops he spills. They end up drunk on alcohol and pheromones and Derek lets himself be carried to their bedroom.

(He even lets Stiles take his shirt off and doesn’t flinch.)

 

Derek carries on teaching at the college. It’s what he loves best. He helps fund a community garden, and teaches younger classes how to grow their own food. There’s pride in seeing his six year olds pulling carrots and potatoes and tomatoes he’s taught them to grow.

Each year, his college students graduate, and his heart swells with pride every time.

 

He keeps gardening for free, as well. Allison comes and helps him sometimes, and they make a pretty great pair. Derek’s pretty sure Lydia and Stiles meet up when he and Allison are working. All the money in the world wouldn’t be worth the smiles on his clients’ faces as they see their newly replenished gardens for the first time.

They all meet up at the coffee shop as often as they can. These days it’s a little less often, because they’ve all got these adult jobs which leave them with barely any time at all. Not to mention Erica and Boyd are getting ready to welcome their new son or daughter, and Scott and Isaac are in the adoption process.

But, when they do meet up, it’s like no time has passed at all. They tease and joke and make Malia laugh so hard she snorts coffee out of her nose. If Derek’s the wolf in Stiles’ story, this is his pack. He’s never felt more at home.

 

It’s Christmas, and Derek gets on one knee by the tree. He proposes with his grandmother’s ring, because he knows Stiles would like that one better. He doesn’t even get to finish the question before Stiles is leaping all over him, peppering kisses anywhere he sees fit.

(The sheriff snaps a photo. That photo ends up being their favourite photo they’ve ever taken. Derek’s pretty sure Laura has it framed in her house.)

 

 

Derek has this boyfriend. It’s a thing.

Well, actually, he’s got this fiancé. They’re the most loved up couple you can imagine. It’s pretty disgusting, yet kind of endearing.

Stiles is twenty-four and a best-selling comic book artist. His favourite colour is green and he is pretty much addicted to coffee.

Stiles knows about Derek’s eating disorder. He’s in recovery, but he still has days where he doesn’t have the energy to get out of bed, and has to cover himself in sweaters so he can’t pick at the flesh on his ribcage. Stiles is always there with his laptop and Netflix and makes it better.

Derek still struggles sometimes. There’s a couple of breakdowns when his muscle memory makes him eat a meal too fast, and has to run to the bathroom, but Stiles is always there with a gentle hand on his back and a bottle of water.

Derek thinks he’s going to be okay.


End file.
